A Pen Pal for Little Lucy
by Sweet Little Mary Sue
Summary: Six months have passed since Charlie and Lucy spent a couple hours in each other's company, and Lucy is doing her best to keep her mind on her work and not burst into tears with each tray of chocolate biscuits that she makes, while Charlie is endeavoring to be a model prisoner, a feat which nearly destroys him each and every day...Charlie/OC...Sequel.
1. Chapter One

A Pen Pal for Little Lucy

Sweet Little Mary Sue

Synopsis: Six months have passed since Charlie and Lucy spent a couple hours in each other's company, and Lucy is doing her best to keep her mind on her work and not burst into tears with each tray of chocolate biscuits that she makes, while Charlie is endeavoring to be a model prisoner, a feat which nearly destroys him each and every day, but which he stubbornly clings to none the less. They miss one another like mad, the world seems the bleakest that it could possibly be…and then Charlie is rewarded for his good behavior with mail privileges, and the couple is able to reach out to one another with letters. It's not as good as being in the same room with the one that you long to touch, but it can still be a lot of fun…depending on what you write.

Disclaimer: This is a wish fulfillment type of fiction, written with Tom Hardy, the actor who portrayed Michael Peterson/Charles Bronson in the film Bronson in mind, and is in no way meant to be taken seriously. That being said, I have not and will not receive any monetary compensation for what I've written and the only thing that belongs to me is my OC, Lucy Brannon, and any and all characters that she brings along with her from the depths of my imagination.

Author's Note: This story is a sequel to the fic entitled _A Fancy for Little Lucy_, which was basically just a two-part smut fest between Charlie and my OC, Lucy Brannon. I don't suppose that it's absolutely essential that you read that story first, not if you don't want to, but what harm would there be in doing so, to get the full effect?

I would like to warn you, in case you didn't read the first fic, about my attempt to mimic Charlie's accent in his dialogue, which will undoubtedly contain numerous mistakes, and I hope that you will be able to overlook these in good humor, and give me the benefit of the doubt that I truly tried my best.

Just So You Know: This story is rated **M** for instances of violence, a variety of cursing, and a whole lot of citrusy smut, both limes and lemons.

~Chapter One~

Dear Charlie,

There is a cool breeze this morning, one that traces itself over my arms as I write this, reminding me of the softness of your lips as they caressed my skin. I wish that it was you who was touching me right now, my love, instead of the wind. I wish that I could gather you close, and lay my lips upon yours, and be with you with no limitations, for as long as time marches on, because the days without you have been an agony to endure and all that I can think of are those precious hours we spent in your cell.

Nighttime is especially difficult, when I am lying alone in my bed, and I remember the way you felt, lying beside me, and on top of me. Do you remember the way that we fit together, Charlie? Do you remember the way that it seemed as if we had been made for one another, as if we were part of one, rather than being one of two, and we'd finally found each other again, after all of the time that had passed us by? Was that real, did you feel it as well, or was it just my imagination? It couldn't have been, could it? You felt it too, didn't you, Charlie?

It makes me blush to tell you this, but I touch myself and think of you. When I'm in the shower, when I'm lying in my bed at night, trying to sleep, when I wake up, first thing in the morning, even, oh, God, when I get off of work and the smell of chocolate biscuits is strong on my hands, and in my hair. Did I smell like those biscuits when I came to you, Charlie? Could you taste it on me when you ran your tongue over my flesh…can you remember that, can you still smell it, can you still taste it?

I know that I didn't leave you with any doubts about my feelings, but there were certain words that I didn't say to you then, words that I was scared to say to you, even though they were strong in my heart and on the tip of my tongue. Can you imagine what those words are, Charlie? Can you hear me saying them in your head? Are they there in your cell? Are they all around you and written on the walls? Three little words, so small, yet so important, so easy, yet so hard…I love you.

That is what I want you to remember, Charlie. I want you to think about me telling you that I love you; I want you to know that I'm working to get you out, and I won't stop. These letters are just the first step toward freedom, and I won't rest until you are in my arms again…if that is what you want, of course. Until then, remember my hands on your body, remember the way that I feel, wrapped warm and tight and wet all around you, think about the way that I taste, the sounds that I make and how I…..

Charlie's POV

…..My hand slid over my cock, and I moaned deep in my throat. I could almost pretend that it was _her_ that I was sliding into, not my own hand, which was, at best, a rubbish substitute, but I didn't have much of a choice, did I? I suppose that I could have tried going cold turkey, but that had been hard enough before the letters, and now that I had that part of her, no matter how small it was, there was no way that I could keep my wanking hand to myself.

I'd been a good little boy for six long months, I hadn't done a single thing that would give the bastards who held the leash on my choke collar any excuse to kick me in my bollocks, figuratively speaking, and I had earned the privilege of correspondence, hence the sheets of paper imprinted with Lucy's fine penmanship and scented with her perfume, with chocolate, and, maybe just in my imagination, though hopefully not, with the sweet and spicy bouquet of her pussy.

I tightened my fist, and stroked the head of my pecker with my thumb, and tormented myself with the image, in my mind, of that pretty mouth of hers, slowly enfolding the tip that my thumb was rubbing. I imagined that I could feel her tongue, soft and warm and wet, as it tasted and teased me. My palm became her mouth, swallowing me and stroking me, again and again, and then she started to move faster, because she could feel that I was getting close, my moment was racing toward me, and at any second I would…..

_Not yet_, I told myself, slowing my movements, before they could drive me over the edge. I wanted to make it last a little longer, it was torture, to hold it back, but it would make it all the sweeter, to build and build and build, until I just couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to pretend that I was really making love to Lucy, and if that was the case, then I needed to make sure that she was given plenty of opportunity to come herself. I wanted her body to be limp with exhaustion before it was over, I wanted her throat raw from screaming, I wanted her covered with sweat and dripping between her thighs…I wanted to hear her say those three words to me, I wanted to hear her screaming them so loud that _everyone _would hear.

She was on top of me, she was riding me, and those plump and pretty breasts of hers were bobbing rhythmically up and down, bouncing in time to the hot silken clasp of her on my cock. I remembered how soft they were, how they'd felt, filling my palm, how they'd tasted, and I reached up and stroked one of her nipples, then the other, and groaned deep in my throat when she tightened her hold on me in response.

_Lucy_, I moaned to myself. _Just like that, love. I'm getting close. I'm almost there. Oh, Lucy…tell me that yeh love me. Do yeh love me? Do yeh, Lucy?_

She sped up her movements, and now she was whimpering, she was playing with her nipples, slapping my hands away, so that she could tease them and pinch them herself. "I love you, Charlie," she gasped, biting down, hard, on her bottom lip. "Oh, Charlie, I love you so much!"

She was coming, I could feel her tightening around me, hugging, then releasing, again and again, while she screamed my name, and I took a moment to lose myself in her gaze until she closed her eyes while she rode out the wave of her orgasm. I watched the flush that spread over her chest, concentrating in that space between her tits, starting as a delicate pink and deepening to a bright red as her movements grew more frantic and her cries echoed off of the walls of my cell, and then I gave myself over to my own needs.

It was always a good thing to come, I couldn't think of one bad thing to say about it, but as I moved from the point of seizing and shuddering and moaning her name, as my hand slowed down and it dawned on me that I was sweaty all over, with a puddle on my stomach, I realized that I was all alone, and that was a depressing realization, to say the very least. I hadn't been making love to Lucy, she hadn't been riding me and telling me that she loved me, it had all been in my mind, and for a man who'd been so damned happy just moments before, I was the picture of a sad and pathetic son of a bitch now, wasn't I?

Not too long ago, mere months, as a matter of fact, I would have been tempted to take out my anger and frustration on those around me. I would have jumped up off of my bunk, without bothering to cover my cock, and I would have done anything and everything to get one of the screws down to my cell. They would have come charging inside, to subdue me, and I would have let my fists start flying at them, screaming things like "fucking cunts" and "smarmy-arsed poofs", but I couldn't do that sort of thing anymore, could I? No, I couldn't do that, not unless I wanted to lose my new privileges, so I had to be a good boy, a model prisoner, an upstanding citizen, and all that twaddle…I just hoped that my head didn't explode from holding it all in.

* * *

Little Lucy,

Are you smiling love? I could see that smile on your face while I was writing this, that one that you always showed me when I'd come into the sweet shop for a bag of chocolate biscuits. You'd look up from the counter, and your lips would curve in greeting, and you always said, "Hello, Charlie. How are you today?" Do you think it means that I'm crazy that I hear you say that to me each and every morning when I open my eyes?

I suppose that there are those who would say that I am a nutter, they would tell me that I've been that way for a good long while, wouldn't they, lovie? But you wouldn't say that to me, would you, Lucy? You might not think that I'm the most stable bloke that you've ever met, but you don't think that I'm crazy, do you? You looked beyond all of that, I know that you did, you had to have seen what was lying beneath all of that, or you wouldn't have reacted to me the way that you did.

I guess that I owe you a word of thanks for getting the powers that be to allow us to pass letters back and forth, don't I? It's not the sort of contact that I would prefer to have with you, but I'll take it. All that I ask is that you find a way to make your paper smell like chocolate biscuits, that skin that rests between your bubbies and just a hint of your pussy…I don't know how you'd manage something like that, and it's probably unseemly of me to make that sort of request, but I'd appreciate it if you would do that for me, love…yes, I mean to use the scent to inspire me while I wank…I hope that is an idea that won't make you uneasy.

I can hear that little mewing sound you made right before you came, that's one sound that I keep in my mind throughout the day, so, needless to say, I have to take my cock into my hand several times as the hours tick by…it's a good thing that I don't have a cellmate, isn't it? How in hell could a man be expected to pleasure himself with a bloody audience looking on, unless the man who was tugging on himself was an exhibitionist, and I'm many things, but I prefer all of my loving, whether it's with my girl, or my hand, to take place in a private location.

I want you to do something for me, little Lucy. I want you to reach down, underneath your dress. I want you to run your fingertips along your thighs until you start to shiver, and then I want you to stick your fingers in your panties and touch yourself. Hear my voice while you play with yourself, lovie, feel my mouth on yours, feel me biting your earlobe, and sucking on it. Your fingers are mine, and they're making you shiver and squirm, until you can't take it any longer. I want you to scream my name when you come, I want you to collect every last drop, and that is what I want you to put on your next letter…I haven't overstepped my bounds just now, have I?

Well, I hear the screws in the corridor. It's chow time, and they're going to give me a chance to eat with the other inmates. I hope that will go well, I hope that I don't hit anyone or lose my temper. Hey, I know what I'll do. I'll keep your face in my mind, so that I remember to behave myself, so that I don't give them any reason to take away my newfound privileges. It'd work even better if I thought about your sweet pussy, but eating with a bobbing cock would be a mite bit awkward, don't you think….?

Lucy's POV

…..My boisterous laughter drew the gaze of more than one of the guards, as a matter of fact, they were all staring at me, but I paid them little mind. I folded Charlie's letter and placed it into my pocketbook, and straightened in my chair, ignoring, with a great deal of difficulty, the shiver that coursed through my body when the seat brushed against parts of me that were aching with need, just as they always did when I thought of Charlie and what he had done to me, of what we had done together.

I had chosen the same dress that I'd worn the last time that I'd walked through the prison doors, one, because it had become my favorite dress after that day, and two, because I hoped, with everything that I had, that they would allow me to see him, even if it was only for a moment. The odds were not in my favor, I was enough of a realist to know that my chances were slim, to say the least, but I wouldn't give up, not until I heard the rejection from the lips of the governor himself.

My appointment time of one o'clock came and went, and the whispers and catcalls from the guards, or, the screws, as Charlie called them, increased, to the point where they weren't even bothering to keep their voices down any longer. It took everything that I had to keep myself calm, to stare straight ahead and do my best to ignore them, but I had come too far to allow them to ruin things for me, and for Charlie, by inciting my temper to the point where I would strike out against them in a way that was inflammatory, at the least, and physically violent, at the most.

I had just about reached the end of my rope, and was all set to voice a complaint at being made to wait, after I'd gone through the trouble of making an appointment and taking off work, when the door to the governor's office opened, and the big man himself, figuratively speaking, stepped out to greet me with an apologetic smile on his face.

"I'm terribly sorry for making you wait, Miss Brannon," he said genially, holding the door for me, and sending a look to his guards that was downright scathing in nature, which I noted, with pleasure, made them flinch. "I was on the phone with my mum, and it's a bit difficult for me to get a word in edgewise with her, especially when I'm trying to hang up the phone."

I wanted to stay angry with him, but he had the sort of personality that made it hard to remember why you'd been irritated with him at all. I don't know if he was that way with those that he had been put in charge of, Charlie had never said, one way or the other, but I couldn't help but like him. He was the one who'd argued on behalf of the radical "treatment" that I'd been part of, and as such, I was hoping that he would be open to more "therapy".

"I'm just grateful that you were willing to see me at all, Mr. Walsh," I said, taking the seat that he indicated. "I know that your schedule has to be a busy one, and it speaks to your love for your mother that you take time for her as well."

I hope that he didn't think that I was laying on the compliments too thickly, or falsely. I figured that it couldn't hurt, to stroke his ego a bit, and I was willing to bet that he enjoyed it, if the smile that was one his face was any indication. I wasn't the sort of person who told lies, and I wasn't going to beg, but there were times when flattery was called for, and I could praise with the best of them…at least, I hoped that I could.

"That's kind of you, Miss Brannon," he said, taking his own seat, behind his desk. "The letter that you wrote to me was intriguing, almost as captivating as the ones that you send to Mr. Peterson…almost, but not quite."

Oh, dear God. It made sense, and I ought to have realized that they would read each and every word that Charlie and I wrote to one another, but I'd never truly allowed myself to acknowledge the fact that they would do so. I suppose that I'd just allowed myself to get caught up in the moment, in what I was thinking and what I was feeling, and I'd lost sight of the fact that there would be witnesses who would scrutinize each and every word that I'd poured forth for Charlie's eyes alone.

"I'm sorry that I have embarrassed you, Miss Brannon, but I thought that you would want to know that your correspondence is not as, ahem, _private_, as you might have believed it to be. That being said, my eyes are the only ones that have read your words, and Mr. Peterson's as well…though, now that I think about it, that might not actually help to make you feel better either…hmm…this is rather awkward, isn't it?"

No, it didn't make me feel any better, to know that Mr. Walsh had read every steamy detail of the letters that I had sent to Charlie, or his to me, but the fact that the governor was blushing, more so than I was, as a matter of fact, _did_ help. I was somewhat relieved and started to feel some of my self-consciousness leaving me…until it dawned on me that we had broken the rules, and that meant that there would be repercussions for our actions, consequences that might include Charlie losing his mail privileges, and if that was the case, then I could definitely forget about any other rewards for good behavior coming his way anytime soon.

"I think that 'awkward' is a little too kind, Mr. Walsh," I whispered, smoothing my hands over the skirt of my dress, while my eyes searched for a spot to rest that wouldn't require them to meet the governor's. "This is the utmost of humiliation, but that doesn't matter. I'd come here with the intention of speaking to you about the possibility of another visit between Charlie and me, but I can imagine now that the answer would definitely be no, so I'll stick with inquiring whether or not we'll still be permitted to write to one another, now that we've broken the rules….."

"You have mistaken my intentions for telling you what I have," Walsh said, interrupting me, before I could continue to mire myself any further into assumption and depression. "I only meant that you ought to be aware that I am reading what you write, so that you will know that your words are not as private as you would like them to be. That being said, Mr. Peterson will still be allowed his mail privileges, given that his behavior has been exemplary, of late, and I would be happy to listen to your request, if you would still like to make it. I can't make any promises, but asking never hurt anyone, did it?"


	2. Chapter Two

~Chapter Two~

Dear Lucy,

There's a new bloke in the cell next to me, a fucking loony, of all things, just when I thought that there was a little hope that I might have someone who'd provide me with an interesting topic or two to pass the time. I wanted conversation when he first moved in, and now I wish that he'd take a hint and shut his gob every now and then, but the nutter chatters to himself night and day instead. He calls himself Pavlov, right, and he calls his willie a dog, and tells me that he's been hard at work, for many years, conditioning his cock to get hard when he whispers the words, Mum's nipples. He's a sick bastard, that much is obvious, but I have to wonder if his perversions are real, or if he's trying to get shipped out of here, into the loony bin…I'm betting on the latter, what about you, my love?

That's a hell of a way for me to start this letter, isn't it? It's not something that I wanted to talk about, Lucy. I want to talk about you, but you want me to tell you something about my life, that's what you said, wasn't it? I wish that I had good things to tell you, but there isn't much good that goes on in here. I think that they're trying to drive me crazy, the screws are, but, then, there's those who would say that I was already a loony, wouldn't they? Maybe that was why they gave me Pavlov to contend with, eh?

Okay, okay, that's enough of that for now…let me think now, something good, something good…Oh, I painted a picture of you and hung it in my cell. I put you in that dress that you were wearing when you came to see me, that pretty blue dress that made your eyes sparkle and shine. I wanted to have one that showed the way that you looked without that dress on, one that captured the flush that spread all over skin when you came, and the way that you'd nibble on your bottom lip, trying to hold your whimpers in when I was moving inside you, but don't worry, those are for my eyes only.

Can you believe that I've managed to behave myself for so long? I wouldn't have thought that I had it in me to follow the rules and keep my temper in check, especially with the new source of provocation resting on the other side of my wall, but it's not nearly as hard to keep control of myself as I thought it would be. That being said, I'd love to crack a few skulls every now and then…..

Lucy's POV

…..No one had ever painted my portrait before. I'd had my picture taken all through my school years, but I'd never posed for an artist. Of course, I hadn't modeled for Charlie either and I had to wonder if he remembered me the way that I really was, or had he put brush to paper and brought me to life in a way that was generous and inspired by desire, as opposed to remembering me the way that I actually was?

I had a picture of him in my wallet, one that captured him with a goofy smile on his face, and I loved it. The only downside was that it was one that I had cut out of the newspaper, well, that and the fact that the photo was a mug shot, but beggars couldn't be choosers, could they? I was just grateful that I had something to look at when I got to missing him something awful and thought that I might cry if I didn't get a look at his face.

Geez, when had I become such a whiner? Yes, I missed him. Yes, I longed for him and I needed him and I wanted him, that was true, but did that mean that I had any reason to sit around, sighing miserably and crying like a ninny? No, I didn't have any real justification for acting like a baby. I needed to focus on what I had, instead of moaning and groaning about all of the stuff that I didn't have. I needed to be grateful, and I needed to be strong and I really, _really_ needed to remember how good I had things, compared to Charlie, and…..

"Excuse me, miss, do you think that you could manage to pull yourself out of your thoughts long enough to wait on me? I'm sure that something positively _earthshattering _has caught you in its grasp, but I would like to get my order and be on my way, if it's all the same to you."

Ugh, what a jerk. He was tall and looked like perfection, from the top of his impeccably styled head to the toes of his shiny wingtips, and it was obvious that he knew it too. He was standing in front of the counter and staring down at me, in a manner that suggested that his opinion of me was very low, so much so that it was resting beneath his feet and he expected me to behave as if that was my proper place in the world.

"Have I said something that you do not comprehend, hmm?" he asked, arching one flawless flaxen eyebrow in my direction. "Do you speak English at all, and if so, should I use smaller words, so that I won't confuse you?"

I was struggling to keep my temper in check, I reminded myself, more than once, that I couldn't afford to lose my job; no matter how satisfying it would have undoubtedly proven to me to make my way around the counter and put the arrogant prick in _his_ proper place. My employer was a sweet, doddering lady who was well into her eighties, and she was a very understanding sort of person, but even she was bound to draw the line if I was to verbally, let alone physically, attack one of her patrons.

"Good afternoon, sir," I said, and was pleasantly surprised to find that my forced civility didn't sound nearly as fake as I'd feared it would. "What can I get for you today?"

There were a great many things that I would have _loved_ to provide him with, but they all fell under that heading of what was forbidden and I forced myself to put my mind back on a track that was the least likely to end with this wanker's bloodshed and my loss of a job, not to mention the prison sentence that I'd likely receive as well. It might have been worth it, if I could have resided in the same prison as Charlie, but that was out of the question, so I endeavored to behave myself, even if it killed me to do so.

"Well, isn't that astonishing, you _do_ have the ability to converse like a human being," he said, in a tone that was filled with derisive astonishment, the sort of sarcasm that no one appreciated, save for the asshole who was happily doling it out. "How wonderful, to know that I won't be forced to give my order to you by grunting and pointing. I have to say that I really wasn't looking forward to that sort of communication, though I would have done the best that I could, if I'd had to."

Well, I'd done my best to be as polite as possible, even though my heart wasn't in it, but I was determined not to speak another word. I would take his order, I would package it, and I would take his money, but I'd be damned if I'd say anything else to him. It was obvious that he had no intentions beyond those of acting like a complete sodding git, so why should I waste my time and energy on being nice to him, when there were so many other things that I could devote myself to?

"I'll take a dozen custard tarts and a dozen chocolate biscuits," he said, pointing to each item as he ordered it, as if I was a simpleton who didn't know a tart from a biscuit. "And be sure that you wrap them carefully, I don't want chocolate on my custard or vice versa."

Ugh, what a jerk. There wasn't a please to be heard, there were simply orders to follow, and I had a good notion that there wouldn't be a single word of thanks once I'd finished his order either. The worst thing of all was that he had ordered some of the chocolate biscuits, the same ones that reminded me so much of Charlie, and, once more, it was all that I could do to keep tears from gathering in my eyes.

"Oh, have I upset you, by any chance?" he asked, with a good deal more pleasure in his tone than what would be considered decent, reminding me of a particularly vicious feline who'd just managed to corner itself a nice, juicy mouse. "I believe that those are tears that I see in your eyes, are they not? Tell me, miss, what was it that I said, or was it something that I did, that would make you want to cry?"

I don't know how I managed to finish boxing his purchases as neatly as I did, I suppose that I ought to have been proud of myself for that achievement, but I was too busy seething to concentrate my attention on any other emotions. My concern for my job was dwindling, smaller and smaller, with every moment that passed, and I wondered if the customer from Hell had any idea how close he was to being the victim of a violent crime.

"Three pounds," I told him, then cursed myself for doing so, because I'd promised that I wouldn't say another word to him.

A tiny wrinkle appeared between his perfect eyebrows, an unfortunate blemish that was a result of his eyes growing narrower and narrower, and I couldn't help but feel a little zing of happiness course through me, because I knew that I had made him mad. He wanted everyone in the world to know that he was superior to them, but I had made him frown, I'd gotten one over on him, even if only for a moment.

"Hmm, you're a little testy for a sweetshop worker, aren't you?" he asked, slowly laying out what he owed, coin by coin, while he stared at me in a way that suggested that he was practically begging me to attempt to argue with him. "I don't know why you're so offended; after all, I'm fairly certain that I'm not the first unpleasant man that you've come across. I should think that you'd be used to it by now, given your breeding and circumstance in the world, yet you have the….."

I knew that he was still talking as I made my way around the counter, I could see his lips moving, and there was no missing the way that he insisted on arching his eyebrows at me, but I wasn't all that interested in what he had to say. I unfastened the ribbon that I'd neatly tied in a bow around the box and flipped open the lid as I made my way toward him, and I dumped the contents onto his head, smashing it, several times, into his perfectly coiffured hair.

All my worries of losing my job as a result of my impulsiveness fled me as I watched, quite gleefully, I might add, as custard rained down on the shoulders of a suit that probably cost him more than I made in a month. It was certain that my concern would return, once the reality of looming bills hit me, along with the fact that I didn't have any money to pay them, but I wasn't going to worry about that right now…I'd agonize about that later, after the warm fuzzies went away.

* * *

Hello Charlie,

I miss you like mad. Maybe I've gone a little mad without you, what other explanation could there be for the fact that I talk to myself, out loud, mind you, and I do so while I pretend that I'm talking to you. I don't suppose that me doing that is kind of crazy, but when you take into account that I answer myself, and that I do my best to do so in _your_ voice…well, that kind of makes me a nutcase, doesn't it?

Do you ever imagine what our lives would be like, if you were a free man, Charlie? Do you dream of a life of your own, or do you think of passing the years with me by your side? I probably shouldn't ask you these things, I shouldn't put you on the spot, but I would like to know the truth, so that I know whether or not it does any good for me to hope for a future with you…..

You're shaking your head at me right now, aren't you, love? You're thinking to yourself that you're never going to get out, you're thinking that you are going to be stuck in that place forever, but that isn't true. You're making an effort to be a model prisoner, you're not giving them any reason to hurt you or to hold you back, and I have every confidence that the day will arrive when you will walk out of there as a free man…the only question that remains is whether or not you'll still want me by your side, or have you grown tired of me?

Hmm…I'm not putting any kind of pressure on you at all, am I? I'm sorry for putting you on the spot; I don't want you to feel like I'm trying to force you into anything, Charlie, because I'm not. You have enough people running you around in circles, don't you, sweetheart? Please remember that I'm thinking of you and that I love you and…..

Charlie's POV

….. "Mum's nipples…uh, oh yes…Mum's pretty pink nipples…I'm a good little boy, yes I am,"…..

That fucking loony bastard was going to be the death of me, because, unfortunately, I couldn't reach him with my bare hands, which meant that I was never going to have a chance to be the death of him. I was willing to swear that he wanked at least once an hour, and I wondered how he'd managed to keep from rubbing his willie raw, at the same time that I marveled at the fact that a grown man could be so taken with his own Mum, and when I say that I marveled, I meant that I did my best to keep the urge to puke at bay while I clapped my hands over my ears and did my damnedest to think of my happy place, the one that was warm and soft and rested between my Lucy's thighs.

It wasn't every day that the Governor decided to take time out of his busy day to have tea with a bloke like me, and I wanted to be calm and cool and collected, so that there wouldn't be much of a chance that I would do or say anything that I shouldn't, but wouldn't you know that Pavlov and his worn-out dog would have other plans for me. How was I supposed to behave like a rational human being when I'd been forced to listen to the incestuous love fest taking place in the cell beside mine all damned day?

I was just about ready to gouge my own eardrums out by the time that the screws came to fetch me to Walsh's office, and the smirks that they were wearing spoke volumes about the fact that they knew that I was suffering and was therefore more inclined to bark and bite. I don't know where I found the self-control to stop myself from doing what they expected me to do, it seemed that there was nothing that would please me more than to act like I normally would…but then I remembered Lucy, and it wasn't nearly as hard to behave myself as I would have expected it to be.

I ran through the things that I planned to say to the Governor in my mind, editing here and there, so as not to say anything that might be considered insulting by the man in charge. The screws insisted on holding on to my arms, as if I couldn't walk all that well on my own, and they kept muttering beneath their breath, a variety of comments that I imagine they considered to be witty and cutting in nature, but I ignored them, they meant nothing to me, I had too much at stake to rise to the bait. That's not to say that I wouldn't have been happy to wipe the smirks off of their faces, but this wasn't the place, and it sure as hell wasn't the time, so I filed that bit of aggression away, for later use, perhaps, when I didn't have so much to lose…and I hoped that day would never arrive.

Walsh himself greeted me at the door, and escorted me inside in the manner of a man who wasn't even remotely intimidated by big, bad Charlie Bronson, which, at one time, would have insulted and aggravated me, but I was grateful that he felt comfortable around me, or, at least, he _pretended_ to, convincingly so, if he wasn't really genuine. His office was bright and filled with a variety of plants, and the place had an air of friendliness about it that I never would have expected, and, surprisingly, I enjoyed the atmosphere, just as much as I did the plushness of the chair that I was offered.

"I've been a bit remiss about making your acquaintance before now, Mr. Peterson," he said, taking his seat behind his desk. "But I have to say that your reputation didn't encourage me to get too close to you. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

I would have preferred a sherbet strawberry, but sweets of any sort were a rarity, so I took two of the lemons, sticking one into my mouth straightaway, and the other into my pocket, for later. It took me a moment to remember who this _Mr. Peterson_ was, because it seemed like a lifetime had passed me by since I'd thought of myself as Michael Peterson, but I recovered quickly enough, and wasn't the least bit offended by the mention of my old name.

"Ta, Guv'nor," I said, remembering my manners a little late, but better late than never, right? "I can't say I blame yeh for keeping yehr distance, what wif my 'istory of being a bad boy. What made yeh change yehr mind about making my acquaintance, if yeh don't mind me asking?"

He looked at me for a moment, and then reached across his desktop to snatch a sherbet lemon for himself. "I saw a different side of you in the correspondences that you exchanged with Miss Brannon," he said, popping the sweetie into his mouth and crunching it right away. "That, and the fact that Miss Brannon is a fine woman, a lady of the highest caliber, and there's no feasible excuse why a woman like her would be with a man with your, ahem, _history_, unless there was a kinder and gentler Michael Peterson resting beneath the rough and violent surface that you display as Charles Bronson, am I right, hmm?"

I ought to have been enraged, knowing that he'd read the letters, but I'd already known that there were curious eyes scanning each and every single thing that came and went from this fine establishment. I should have been steaming, knowing that he was meeting with my Lucy, when I hadn't gotten so much as a glimpse of her since that day. Most of all, I should have been seeing red, bloody, gory _crimson_ over his insinuations about my character, even if some of them were true, but, surprisingly enough, I wasn't furious, not even a bit, I wasn't even irritated…hmm, that was kind of odd, wasn't it?

"I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that yeh're _right_, Guv'nor," I said, leaning back in my chair and savoring the lemon sweetie, slowly turning it 'round and 'round with my tongue. "But yeah, yeh might be on the right _track_ if yeh believe that little Lucy's brought out a brand-new Charlie, though I wouldn't say that I'm 'ousebroken just yet, if yeh know what I mean."


	3. Chapter Three

~Chapter Three~

Dear Charlie,

Happy birthday, love! I know that your birthday won't be here for another week, but I've decided that I'm going to celebrate early. I think that I'm something of an oddity where my fellow females are concerned, because I've never been upset by the prospect of turning another year older. That might change as I approach middle age, but I still get excited when I think about a day where I can eat as much cake as I want without feeling guilty and the possibility of receiving presents…maybe I'm just a kid at heart, huh?

I know that it has to be difficult for you right now, Charlie, but you've done so well, you haven't gotten into trouble, and I hope that you know how proud that I am of you. I don't know if I'd be able to tolerate the presence of this _Pavlov_, much less his dog, and the fact that you do just proves how strong you are, and I don't just mean the size of your muscles, my love. You have an inner strength, to have survived as long as you have, and I want you to hold tight to that, Charlie, I want you to remember that it's there for you, when everything seems impossible…and so am I.

Maybe can help you, my love, maybe I can give you something to think of, while the perv in the cell next to you is moaning about his Mum's nipples. Would you like that, Charlie? Do you think that I have the ability to make you think of me, and not of him? I flatter myself by believing that I do, I like to think that some new memories might help to inspire you, but maybe I'm wrong, maybe you don't find me nearly as appealing as I find you, maybe…..

…..you can feel my lips, aren't they warm and soft, sliding down your throat? I'm placing your hands on my bare breasts, and my nipples are hard, they were anticipating your touch, and now they're sticking out and stabbing into your palm. You take them in between your finger and your thumb and you pluck them, you tickle them, you pinch them, very gently, and I can't keep myself from moving against you, that part of me that's so very soft, against that part of you that's straining against your trousers, because everything that you do drives me insane…in the very best way possible.

My mouth is on your chest now, Charlie. Oh, God, how I love your chest…though, if the truth were to be known, there's no part of you that I don't love. I adore you, from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet, but right now we're talking about your chest. Can you feel my hand, hmm? It's the one that is slowly making its way down from your neck, tracing and teasing everything that is in its path, my fingernails are tickling your tummy, while my mouth finds your nipple. My tongue is soft as it caresses you, my teeth are sharp, but gentle, as they bite you, and I hear you moaning, my love, when my hand finds the waistband of your trousers.

I'm pretty sure that you would be hard by now, wouldn't you? My hand is unfastening your belt, Charlie, and opening the button and unzipping the fly of your pants, and then, hmm, I can slip inside. I'm tracing you through your underwear, and I smile when I hear you moan, it's a sound that grows louder, once I remove all of your clothing and take you into my hand. You're silken to the touch, and so hot, and I love the way that you grip the bed, tight in your fists, when you feel the caress of my thumb over the cap of your cock. I love to hear you growl my name, and I don't waste any time as I drop down to my knees and move between your legs, so that I might take you into…..

Charlie's POV

…..I would have liked to have followed Lucy's advice. I would have liked to have had a few moments to myself, so that I might pull my willie out of my pants and imagine all of the lovely things that my sweet girl had been kind enough to write for me, but how was I supposed to do that when the fucking loony in the cell beside me wouldn't shut his gob for more than a minute or two at a time? I don't know about anyone else, but I personally found it tasking, to say the very least, to obtain an erection when there was a constant litany of Pavlov and his dog traveling to me from beyond the joining wall, let alone to maintain the damned thing, which meant that I was left unfulfilled and frustrated and ready to rip the throats out of every one that I laid eyes on…starting with the nutter next door, though, first, I decided I would rip his _dog_ off of his body, and then I would move on to his throat.

I was pacing around my cage like the animal that I was, clenching my fists, and then relaxing them, while I wondered what manner of horrible thing I had ever done that would rate me the sort of life that I was living. Don't get me wrong, I knew that I'd done things that were heinous to be sure, but did I really deserve to pay for them for the rest of my life? What had been the purpose of me meeting Lucy at all, if I was just going to be given that moment, that instant of something special, only to never going to have it again? Was that just some new sort of torture that had been devised solely for me? If so, it was spot-on with its purpose, because try though I might, I hadn't been able to think about anything but her since that day, and I was seriously beginning to wonder if a man could go mad from sexual deprivation.

I suppose that there would be some who'd feel like it was their business, their mission in life, for some bloody reason, to remind me that I was _not_ a man who was deprived of that which was sexual in nature. These bastards would point out to me, and anyone else who'd listen long enough, that masturbation culminated in an orgasm, just like sex did, and that meant that it was the exact same thing, to which I would reply that they didn't know their arse from a hole in the ground, and that they had never been balls deep in a woman before either, otherwise they'd know that wanking had never and would never hold a candle to sliding into a warm and wet pussy, wouldn't they?

Aw, shit. The loony was really starting to get worked up, going on and on about his Mum's nipples, just like he always did, and providing a running soundtrack for his _dog_ as well, one that was filled with barks and howls and all sorts of sounds that set my teeth on edge. His normal routine was bad enough, there was no denying that, but then he started in on his Mum's mouth and what he imagined her doing, and I decided that I'd endured all that I could. I'd reached the end of my damned rope, and I couldn't go any farther, and the only choices that I had were to kill both Pavlov and his dog, or to tie a noose at the end of that rope that I'd been traveling and hang myself with it.

I was going to do it, I was going to find a way to bust out of my cell, and then I was going to take that fucking loony apart with my bare hands, piece by piece, until there was nothing left that would indicate that he'd ever even existed. Yeah, that was what I wanted to do, as a matter of fact, I could already taste the blood, but then I remembered that I didn't do that sort of thing anymore. I'd promised Lucy that I would keep a tight grip on my temper, she was counting on me to remember that, and I couldn't let her down, could I? I would just have to endure all of the bullshit that was thrown my way, whether I liked it or not, wouldn't I?

It was a bleak fucking prospect, as far as life as I knew it went, that was for damned sure.

Pavlov and his dog finished their experiment, and the scientist rolled over on his bunk to have a little kip afterward, just like he always did, which meant that I had at least an hour of quiet time before he would start everything all over again. It disgusted me, just a bit, to think about making love to my hand while I thought about my Lucy, given what I'd just endured, but, at the same time, I reasoned that doing so would relax me. I was all set to open my pants and go to work when I heard a sound out in the hallway, one that I recognized as footsteps and I moved off of my bunk in a hurry and made my way to my desk, because I wasn't such an easy target for the screws when I was sitting there.

Imagine my surprise when I saw that it was the Governor who was leading the duo of guards, and when I say _surprise_, I mean that I was gobsmacked, floored and thrown for a loop. It was one thing for the Boss to call me to his office, to have a little chat over some tea and scones, but it was an entirely different kettle of fish when he deigned to visit me in my cell…I guess it was a good thing that ol' Pavlov hadn't finished quicker than he did, wasn't it, otherwise I would have been caught with my hand on my willie, and how in hell did one go about explaining away that sort of awkwardness?

"Good afternoon, Mr. Peterson," he said, in a tone that was cheerful and affable, entering my cell and taking the seat that I offered him, the one that I'd just risen from. "I hope that you'll forgive me for calling on you without notice, but it has come to my attention, through your correspondence with Miss Brannon, that you have a birthday coming up, and given your exemplary behavior of late, I thought that we might be able to arrange something for you, a gift, of sorts. How does that sound to you?

* * *

Little Lucy,

I dreamed about you last night. That's nothing unusual, of course, but this was one of those sorts where I woke up with my hand on my cock, moaning your name, and not giving a damn who heard me when I came. I guess that there are some who would think that those are the only sorts of dreams that I'm interested in, but that's not true. Sometimes I like the ones where we just sit and talk, and then there are the dreams where you're cooking a batch of chocolate biscuits for me, wearing this skimpy apron and nothing else…okay, that one is sexual, I'll admit it, but last night's dream had the apron and the biscuits, along with a bit of shagging on the counter in the sweet shop.

Hmm…I've never seen you in an apron like that, Lucy love, but I've got a decent, and dirty, imagination, and it didn't take much effort on my part to dress you up in that apron in my dream. It was white, with tiny blue flowers all over it, and the hem just barely covered your sweet bum and fanny from my sight. Your breasts were bobbing all around, giving me a peek whenever you took a step, popping out altogether when I picked you up and put you on the countertop…I hope that I can hear you make that noise that you made when your bare cheeks hit that cold glass sometime, because it was a sound that made my pecker bump against the fly of my trousers.

You needed to finish the batch of biscuits that you were working on, you needed them to sale, but I distracted you and got the bowl of batter away from you. I moved to stand between your legs, to hold you in place, and dipped the mixing spoon into the chocolate goodness. I wanted to taste the batter, but I don't want to use the spoon, so I used my finger instead. You ought to have been giving me a bollocking, but you were too busy staring at me, and watching that fingertip disappear into my mouth. I could tell that you wanted to try a little of it for yourself, so I got you a little taste on my finger. You opened your mouth, like a good little girl, and I slipped inside. Your tongue was soft, and you licked every last bit of the chocolate off of me…I could barely wait until you were done to kiss you, and I have to tell you, love, that chocolate never tasted better than it did in a kiss, unless it was off of your nipple, or off of your thigh, right next to your…hmm…I think that I'll try that next…..

Lucy's POV

I was wearing a new dress for him, and I hoped that he would like it. It was black with white polka dots, and had a red ribbon around the waist, and a red tulle hem. I felt like the red made me stand out, especially with the matching pumps that I'd chosen to complete the look, but I hadn't worn them for anyone but Charlie. I wanted to give him a birthday that he would remember for the rest of his life, one that I would as well, and looking pretty was just one part of what I had in mind.

His cell was just as I'd remembered it, for the most part, but he'd added one personal touch that made me smile. He'd placed my portrait in a place of pride, right where he could see it when he laid down to sleep and when he opened his eyes in the morning. I'd wondered if he would remember me the way that I really was, truth be told, I'd assumed that he would pretty me up a little bit, but his memory, it would seem, was excellent, and it was honest as well.

He saw things in me that I'd never noticed, but I suppose that made sense, given that they were things that I never saw for myself. I didn't know what my smile looked like when I was genuinely pleased to see someone, just like I didn't know that my eyes lit up when I truly smiled, but they must have, because he had captured them that way. I think if he was going to make something better than it was in real life, then he would have made my breasts bigger, wouldn't he? He would have made me thinner and fixed all of my imperfections, but he'd drawn me just as I was, and that was proof that he liked me just the way that I was, wasn't it?

I'd placed my purse on his table, and his gift as well, and made myself comfortable on his bunk. It hadn't been the easiest thing in the world, to convince Mr. Walsh to allow me to bring Charlie a tin of chocolate biscuits, but in the end he had relented, and I knew that those were going to be a big hit. I'd also purchased some art supplies for him, because I knew that he was encouraged to express himself with artistic therapy, and I'd also enclosed a surprise for him, one that I hoped he could hide, and wouldn't be punished for, if it was found. It was embarrassing enough, to have lovingly wrapped a pair of my knickers, ones that I'd worn for an hour, after spritzing my…_self_…with perfume, but the picture of the guards finding said panties made my skin crawl, to say the very least.

I heard a door open down the hall and my heart started to pound in anticipation. I rushed to straighten my dress, and my hair, and then I sat up straight and turned my head, to face the door, so that the first thing that he would see would be my smile. It seemed that hours passed while he made his way down the hall, and I couldn't sit still, no matter how hard I tried, but then the door opened, and he made his entrance, after the guards had unfastened his restraints, and then I couldn't move at all, I stared at him, like I was frozen in place, until the door closed behind him and we were alone.

Mr. Walsh had promised that we'd have three hours this time, which was very generous, but it still wasn't long enough, and I didn't want to waste a single minute. I rose onto my feet and rushed across the tiny cell, jumping into his arms and twining my legs around his waist, desperate with my need to hold him, and to be held, to kiss him and be kissed…to love him and to be loved in return. His arms closed around me, tightening until I was cuddled as close as possible and he buried his face in my neck, breathing deeply, and then he whispered my name.

"Happy birthday, Charlie," I murmured, shivering, and then shuddering, when I felt the brush of his lips, whisper soft, against my skin. I tried to keep my hips still, I tried to wait, thinking that now wasn't the time for me to move against him like a woman who was consumed by my need for him, which was exactly what I was, but I just couldn't stop the roll of my hips. I surged against him, desperate for the feel him, but the layers of my dress and the petticoat beneath it hindered me, and a tiny whimper of disappointment escaped me before I could stop it.

"Don't worry, little Lucy," he murmured, and that first sound of his voice, after all the time that had passed, made me quiver all over. He reached down and placed one hand on my hip, then the other pressed against my bottom, and he used that hold to move me against him, and thrust forward at the same moment, and I felt him that time, so much so that another mewl burst from my lips, though that one had nothing whatsoever to do with disappointment. "Ah, there yeh go, my lovie. That's better now, isn't it?"

I nodded my enthusiasm and hoped that he wouldn't stop there, but he started walking instead, carrying me, and that made me sad…for a couple of seconds, until I realized that he was making his way over to his bunk, and then my heart started beating faster. My blood was rushing, I was filled with a zinging rush of heat, from my head to my toes, and the aching heartbeat between my thighs was making me very wet, all of that from a hint of his lips and the feel of his body against mine. What was it going to be like once he put his hands and his lips and his tongue on me, and in me, with a growing purpose? I was afraid that I might die from the pleasure of it all…but that wouldn't be such a bad way to go, would it?


	4. Chapter Four

~Chapter Four~

Pretty Lucy,

Is it pathetic of me to spend most of my waking time thinking about the day that I'll be with you again? Of course, those sort of thoughts lead to the ones that are a fair bit wicked in nature, which, in turn, makes my waking time my _wanking_ time…you didn't see that one coming, did you, love? I suppose that I ought to strive to conduct myself like a gentleman, for once in my life, and resist the urge to turn each and every letter that I send your way into an insight into my sexual urges and desires, but for some reason I just can't think of anything else…..

Lucy's POV

He was determined to drive me crazy. He insisted that I keep my hands to myself while he slowly and torturously studied me, but he was allowed to use his hands as much as he wanted, and that wasn't fair. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't complaining because he was touching me, that was something that would _never_ bother me, the thing that was driving me batty was the fact that I couldn't touch him in return. Didn't he realize that I needed to run my hands all over him? Couldn't he see that I was just as ravenous for him as he was for me? And what in hell gave him the right to establish the rules? Who in the hell did he….?

"Why are yeh working so 'ard at getting y'r knickers in a twist, lovie?" he asked, taking my face into his hands, cradling my cheeks in his calloused palms, while his thumbs worked their magic on my cheekbones, then, after I had calmed somewhat, against my will, of course, he moved the gentle strokes to my lips, touches which did nothing at all to soothe me, thank God. "What could I 'ave done, to make yeh mad at me, little Lucy?"

He moved his hands off of my face, to my neck, and rubbed away all of the tension that my sudden and gradually fleeting temper had brought to life. His fingertips were gentle, but firm, and it wasn't long before I was closing my eyes and turning loose of the quiet gasps and murmurs that the slow and steady stroking brought to life within me. I hadn't realized, until that moment, how much I'd missed being touched, it seemed like a lifetime had passed me by without this essential connection, and I promptly went from one emotion to another, one that was much worse than my anger had been.

"Aw, don't cry, Lucy," he said softly, moving his hands to my legs, using his hold to pull me forward, so that he could twine them around his waist. "I can take a tantrum, or a bollocking, but I don't 'ave it in me to see y'r tears."

He slipped his hands into my upswept hair and pulled out the pins, one by one, so that the cascading strands fell down my back, and over my bare shoulders, and then he brought his lips to my face and kissed away the tracks that my tears had made on my cheeks. He traced each path, until it was dry, and then he moved his lips down my neck, softly kissing me, and tickling me with his moustaches, moving my hair out of the way, when it impeded his path, only to be met with the halter strap of my dress, which covered a place that he loved to caress, the spot where my neck touched my shoulder.

"Aw, bloody 'ell, Lucy," he grumbled, moving back, and giving me a look that might have intimidated me, had I not been trying so hard to keep the giggles that were bubbling up inside of me to myself. "Don't get me wrong, love, y'r dress is very pretty, and I like it, but I don't take kindly to 'aving my efforts at seduction thwarted by anyone or anyfing, so what do yeh say to the idea of the two of us getting starkers as soon as possible, eh?"

I had to admit that his request that we strip our clothes off as quickly as possible _was_ appealing, but I also wanted to take things slowly, to savor each second that we had been given, so I tried to find a balance between the two. I took his hand and brought it around to my back, where the buttons on my dress were just waiting to be opened, and he immediately went into action, popping open one, and then another, until he'd unfastened all of them.

"I'm sorry that I was being so whiny," I said, tracing my fingertip over his moustaches. "This is no time for that sort of thing, and it was a rotten thing for me to do, and….."

He leaned forward and kissed me, cutting off my rambling apology with the warm clasp of his lips on mine, and the soft stroke of his tongue as it slipped inside of my mouth and swirled around, then found, and teased, the back of my upper lip. I whimpered and surged against him, sighing his name, when I felt the proof of his arousal stroking me through the layers of clothing that were separating us from one another.

He raised his hands to the halter strap on my dress and pulled it over my head, and kept going, until the top of my dress was resting around my waist, and all of my earlier irritation and subsequent embarrassment was forgotten when I saw the look on his face when he got an eyeful of my bare breasts. I would have thought that he'd have noticed that I was sans brassiere, given the way that my nipples had been straining against the fabric of my dress, but his wide, startled eyes said differently.

"Y'r a naughty little girl, aren't yeh, little Lucy?" he asked softly, running his fingertips down my chest, purposely avoiding my nipples, until I made a quiet sound of protest, and then he took them between his index fingers and his thumbs and gently rubbed them, until I couldn't keep my hips still, not even if I'd wanted to. "Do yeh fink I ought to spank yeh for being such a bad girl?"

Hmm…did I want to be spanked by Charlie, was that something that I would enjoy? It occurred to me that I ought to be outraged that he'd even consider such a thing, but I wasn't even remotely scandalized. There was something very tantalizing to me about the thought of him bending me over his knees and moving my dress, and then my petticoat away, to expose my garter belt…and my bare bottom. It was especially wicked of me, to have forgone panties, in addition to my bra, but it was liberating as well, and I knew that Charlie would approve, no matter how outraged he pretended to be.

"I think that you need to punish me for being so brazen, Charlie," I agreed, boldly caressing him with a slow and deliberate surge of my hips. "But you won't hurt me, will you? You'll be sweet and gentle with your hand, won't you, love? You wouldn't want it to sting too bad…would you?"

His eyes darkened, and a rough growl escaped his throat. His hands gripped my hips, holding me tightly, and almost, but not quite, painfully, using his hold to bring me forward, again and again, against the front of his pants. I began to think that he had changed his mind about spanking me, but suddenly, without a word, he flipped me over, to lie on my stomach on his bunk, with my pelvis and thighs on his lap and my legs on the bunk as well, while my feet dangled off of the edge. It was somewhat disconcerting and embarrassing, to find myself in that position, but it was exciting as well, and I couldn't help but wriggle against him just a little to heighten the ache that was strumming with life between my thighs.

"I don't like to cause yeh pain, Lucy, but I can't be too gentle with yeh, if y'r to learn y'r lesson, but yeh should know that no matter 'ow much I 'urt yeh, it'll be stinging me even more."

* * *

Dear Charlie,

Do you ever think about how wonderful it's going to be when we can wake up next to each other every morning? Of course, that means that we'll be going to sleep, side by side, each and every night, after we've made love, doesn't it? Am I alone in thinking that life would be a lot sweeter if we were sharing it with each other….?

Charlie's POV

I'd spent numerous hours thinking about Lucy's sweetly rounded arse, and most of the time I'd done so with my cock nestled firmly in my furiously pumping fist, so you can imagine how eager I was to smack my hand against the thing that had filled so many of my fantasies. I never would have thought that she would allow me to swat her bum, I figured that sort of thing was off-limits, but now, here I was, with her sprawled on my lap, and I smiled, and slowly raised the skirt of her dress, and then her petticoat…and found a bare bottom peeking out at me beneath her suspender belt.

Bugger me…this was even better than I'd imagined it would be, and that was saying a lot, because I'd had plenty of steamy fantasies about Lucy and her arse, but I'd always pictured my hands slowly pulling her knickers off. That was a scenario that I'd imagined numerous times, but now that I saw her bare bum, it dawned on me that I didn't really need to pull her panties off after all. It would be just fine, brilliant, really, to commence with the spanking right away, because that meant that she'd been walking around braless and pantless, which meant that she was a _very_ naughty little girl…and she'd been rubbing her naked fanny against my pants, not her knickers, which meant that the crotch of my trousers smelled like her…..

_One fing at a time, yeh 'orny bastard_, I reminded myself, running my hand over her bottom and smiling when she jumped a little, then shivered all over. She had tensed up in anticipation, and I suppose that it was a little nasty of me, but I waited until she'd relaxed, and then I smacked the flat of my hand against her arse. I was careful to control the amount of force that I used, because, in spite of what I'd said, I had no desire at all to cause her any real pain. She jumped again, and took a deep breath, then sighed when she felt me gently caressing the spot that I'd just spanked.

"That's one, love," I whispered, moaning when she moved against me in a way that caressed my cock. "I'll give yeh four more, and then I'll let yeh up, does that sound fair to yeh?"

She might not have agreed as quickly as she did if she'd known that I meant to smack her a little harder with each one of those four, and I suppose I ought to have told her, but I kept my mouth shut, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was crossing the line, and, if so, would she forgive me for it? Surely this wasn't something that would make her stop loving me, was it?

I stroked her lovingly one last time, then drew back my hand and brought it down, taking more pleasure than I ought to have, I suppose, in the sound that it made when my palm connected with her flesh. I hadn't really hit her much harder than I had the first time, it was just a little bit of a difference, but this time her breath hissed between teeth that were clenched. She still took solace in the gentle touch of my hand afterward, and I reached down, to take one of her hands off of the bed, and held it in my own, to comfort her further, and then I drew back my other hand and brought it down, a little harder, on her bum.

"Ouch," she said, very softly, and I almost stopped, but then she moaned, and rubbed herself against me, and I knew that didn't really mind that I was hurting her. Her arse was turning a pretty shade of pink, a delicate hue, and I decided that I wanted it rosy, not red, mind you, but darker than it was. I didn't caress her afterward, the way that I had, I ought to have done so, and I meant to, but I forgot myself a little bit, and gave her the other two quickly, one right after the other, and was pleased with the evidence of my handiwork.

I was so busy admiring the rosy tint of her bottom that it took a moment for me to realize that she wasn't making a sound, not a bloody peep, and she wasn't moving either, except for the rapid in and out of her breathing. It dawned on me that I might have gone too far, that I might have pushed things past the point of decency, and I started to worry that she might be angry with me, that I might have really hurt her, and now she was too scared to speak or to move.

The poor woman, she'd walked into my cell thinking that I was the love of her life, and now she probably thought that I was a rubbish excuse for a man, and I was pretty sure that she would be right about that. Hadn't I told her that I had no desire to hurt her? The worst thing was that I honestly hated to think that I had ever or would ever cause her pain, but she'd never believe that now, would she? She would be well within her rights to hit me back, or to tell me to piss off, because she never wanted to see my face again, much less feel my lips and hands on her body and my willie in her…..

"I'm going to be very insulted if you've gone to sleep back there," she said suddenly, bringing me out of my self-loathing with a start. She turned around to look at me, and then she smiled, a grin that was so wicked and filled with sensual promise that I would have sworn I felt it in my balls. "After all, I am sprawled on your lap, with nothing covering my breasts and very little hiding my backside…I would think that would be enough to keep you interested, or have I sadly overestimated my charms?"

She wasn't furious with me, and she sure as hell wasn't scared of me, as a matter of fact, if I had to put a name to what it was that I thought she was feeling at that moment, I'd have to say that she was turned-on, even more than she had been before I spanked her. Hmm…it would seem that she really was a naughty girl, and she truly liked having her bum warmed up by my hand.

"Of course I didn't go to sleep," I said, growling a bit, deep in my throat, when she wriggled against me in a way that made the swelling in my pants bounce itself against the fly of my trousers. "And I don't fink that yeh 'ave a 'igh enough opinion of y'r charms, if yeh want to know the truf…but that's not why I was quiet, love. I was afraid that I'd hurt yeh and that yeh probably didn't want to be wif me anymore and….."

"Charlie," she said softly, stopping me mid-rant, before I could say that she probably didn't love me anymore, and I was grateful to her for that. "You didn't do anything that I didn't want you to do, and I won't say that my bottom's not smarting right now, because it is, but that certainly didn't lessen my need for you, my love."

"It didn't?" I asked, amazed by the knowledge that she still wanted me. "Yeh mean, I still 'ave a chance, even though I 'urt y'r bum?"

She giggled, a sweet sound that made me smile, and wriggled against me all over again. "Reach between my legs and have a feel of the atmosphere down there, and then tell me what you think your chances are."

Bugger me. My hand wanted to shake as I moved it between her legs, but I wouldn't allow it to embarrass me. I kept it steady as I slipped it between the silkiness of her thighs, then further, until I brushed against flesh that was very warm, very swollen, and very, very wet. She was ready for me, hell, she was practically begging me to have my wicked way with her, and it didn't take much to convince me to take her up on the offer, especially not after I heard her whimpering my name when I brushed my fingertip against her little sugar button.

I handled her as gently as I could manage, pulling her up off of my knees with one move, while I wrestled my pants down in another, then brought her back onto my lap, hovering right over my cock, so close that I could feel her heat. I took one deep breath after another, groaning and grunting and choking back a string of curse words, mixed with a variety of blasphemies, as I helped her to lower herself onto me, to embrace me, bit by bit, into that tight, velvety cocoon of warmth that I'd missed so much.

I don't know where I found the strength to go slowly, so that she could accept me at her own pace, and it was a bloody miracle that I didn't do serious damage to my lip, given the way that I was biting down on it with everything that I had, but then she was hugging me close from top to bottom, and I closed my eyes and did my best to breathe…an essential action that failed me completely when I felt her hesitantly make her first move.

"Oh, Char_lie_," she moaned, rising shyly, rubbing me slowly and torturously, then falling, and drawing me close in her silken embrace all over again. "Oh, I'm so full, and it fills so good…am I doing this right, my love?"

I slipped one hand onto her bum, cradling it gently, and used the other hand to take hold of one of her baps in my hand, filling my palm and then some in the best way possible, and bent my head, to take her nipple into my mouth. I circled the wee bit with the tip of my tongue, and then sucked it between my teeth and my tongue, nipping her, softly, before I let her go.

"Y'r perfect, lovie," I whispered, then closed my eyes and made a whimpering sound that would have embarrassed me if I hadn't been buried balls deep in the sweetest pussy that I'd ever known. "Everyfing is brilliant, little Lucy."

She wrapped her arms around me and moved as close to me as she could. Her lips were soft on my neck, her teeth were sharp, but not to the point where they hurt me. She was still moving slowly, and everything inside of me screamed at me to throw her onto my bunk, flat on her back, so that I could dominate the situation, and her as well, but I fought it off. I was going to let her set the pace for both of us, no matter how hard it was to control myself…I just hoped that she didn't kill me in the process.

"I love you, Charlie," she whimpered, moving faster, enough that her breasts started to bob up and down in time with the quickening movements of her hips. "I love you so much….."

She was getting close, I could hear it in her voice, I could see it in her eyes, and that was a damned good thing, because I was almost where I needed to be. My heart was thundering in my chest, my vision was getting fuzzy around the edges, and I could feel the first tingles starting up inside of me. She kept moving, faster and faster, and she was whimpering and gasping and chewing on her bottom lip, so I used my hand on her bum, helping her to move, urging her to hurry, before it was too late for me.

"Hmm…I love yeh, too, Lucy," I moaned, so close, so damned close. "Arse over tits in love wif yeh."

At any other time, she probably would have laughed at my choice of words, the ones that weren't as romantic as they ought to have been, but she was too far gone in her pursuit of her orgasm to pay any mind to anything, other than hearing the words that I'd never told her before, at least, not directly. She moved frantically, wildly surging, and then she went stiff in my arms, choking on a scream as she came apart at the seams.

She was lovely at all times, but in that moment she was the most beautiful woman that I'd ever seen. Her eyes seemed to go out of focus and a flush moved over the slopes of her breasts, rosy for the most part, and darker, almost blood red, in her cleavage. She was holding me tightly with her arms, and down below as well, hugging me so snugly that it almost hurt, and I couldn't stand it any longer. I turned loose of my self-control and shouted her name, again and again, as I came so hard that I damn near passed out. We made our own music together, a pretty tune, though her part was sweeter than mine, and then I gathered her close in my arms, so tightly that I worried I might hurt her, and we held one another, kissing and murmuring lovey-dovey nonsense back and forth, as we returned to the here and now.

Our kisses were slow and sleepy, the warm and lingering sort that you share with someone right after they've turned you inside out and made you scream their name. It had been so perfect, and now I wanted to sleep with her, so I kicked my pants off completely, then tossed her dress across the cell, to land on my table, and lay down, with her in my arms. I wasn't sure how much time we had left, but I needed to sleep, and I wanted her to join me. She seemed content to do so, snuggling close to me…and then she started giggling.

"Is that right?" I asked sleepily, running my hand up and down her back. "What's so funny, little Lucy?"

She giggled again, and lifted my hand, so that she could kiss my palm. "'Arse over tits in love'…I'll have to remember that one for my letters, won't I?"


	5. Chapter Five

~Chapter Five~

Dear Charlie,

It was freezing this morning when I woke up and I started thinking of how warm I would be, if you were in bed with me. Are you the cuddly type, my love? I've never given much thought to it myself, but it occurred to me that you have the perfect arms and chest for cuddling. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Charlie? You always like to hold me close after we've made love, and, it seems to me that we would be doing a lot of that, if you were to go to bed with me every night…of course, that's not to say that we would only make love in bed, because there are so many other places where we could get naked, and it would be a shame to ignore them, wouldn't it?

I was so cold, but I didn't dare turn on my heat until I called Mrs. Lewis and asked her if it was alright for me to do so. I can just hear you now, my love, and you're saying that I ought to have turned it on and told the old bint to piss off if she didn't like it, but she kept me on in the sweet shop, even though I was very rude to one of her customers, and I am grateful to her for that, so I'm going to do my best to keep things friendly between us.

I was shivering as I made my way to the loo, and I thought about you when I saw the way that my nipples were poking through the thin cotton of my nightgown. I suppose that I ought to buy a new nightie, because the one that I have is worn and threadbare, but it is the perfect softness, now that it's older, and I know that it would take years for me to get another one to the point that this one is at right now. Of course, I probably wouldn't be wearing anything if you were in bed with me, would I, my love?

Charlie's POV

I didn't like to think of Lucy shivering because she was cold. I didn't mind when she quivered because I was touching her and making her want me, that pleased me, and I wanted to do it again and again, but that wasn't anything like her trembling because she was cold, though, now that I thought about it, I wouldn't mind seeing her nipples pushing through a thin, cotton nightgown. I'd prefer to see them uncovered, of course, but that could come later, after I'd had a chance to fill my eyes with…..

"Oi, you," a voice whispered in my ear, a whisper that was accompanied by overly warm and wet breathing, which smelled disgusting as it wafted into my nostrils. "Give me a fag, yeh big, bald git."

I took a deep breath, even though it made me gag, and reminded myself that I couldn't kill him, not if I wanted Lucy to be happy with me. I couldn't go around, bashing heads and cracking bones anymore, not if I wanted to enjoy a life with my girl after the powers that be turned me loose…_if_ they ever did turn me loose, that is.

"Yeh'll 'ave to bum a fag offa someone else," I said, taking another deep breath, because the first one hadn't calmed me down, and, once more, I was punished for doing so when I got a nose full of the gentleman's noxious breath. "I don't 'ave permission from the Guvnor to smoke, an' I don't fancy carrying around snouts just for shits and giggles, so piss off, eh?"

Well, that wasn't quite as cordial as I'd meant it to be, but I wasn't all that concerned with his temperament, and I sure as hell didn't give a shit about his _feelings_. I was trying to keep my own temper in check, I was doing my damnedest to remember to be a good boy, and that I couldn't maim or kill one of my fellow inmates, so I didn't really have the time, and I definitely didn't have the patience, to coddle the stinking cunt so as to make him feel better about my lack of fags.

"Yeh wan't' know what I fink, eh?" he growled, moving closer to me, so that his cock was practically poking me in the arse. "I fink y'r lying t' me. I fink yeh've got plenty o' snouts, an' yeh jus' don't wan't' give one t' me. Yeh wan' t' keep all of y'r fags for y'rself, but y'r goin' t' give me one right now, or I'm goin' t' put my fist up y'r arse and make yeh squeal like a pig."

Well, I suppose that I hadn't been as uncouth as I could have been, had I? "While I'm sure y'r very comfortable putting y'r fist up a bloke's arse, and 'aving the same done to yeh in return, it's not somefing that I enjoy, so if I was you, and I wanted to walk out of 'ere on legs that weren't broken, I'd shut my gob and back the fuck off of the big, bald git before 'e rearranges your cock and balls so that they 'ang off of y'r ears."

I noticed that there were a couple of guards watching us, Richter and Lewis, who both seemed to obtain an obscene amount of humor and satisfaction from making my life inside a living, breathing hell. I don't know what I'd ever done to make them hate me so much, aside from a couple of punches to Richter's ballocks, and a knee slammed into Lewis' kidney, that is, but that had been ages ago, and they really ought to have moved on by now, don't you think?

"I'm not keen on stretching out a geezer's arsehole, not if I can find a sweet little cunt t' fuck, but choices are limited when a man's inside, and y'r looking better an' better t' me wif every day that goes by."

Holy balls…this was much worse than I'd initially imagined it would be. I suppose that it was a record of sort, for a man to spend so much time in prison without being propositioned by his fellow inmate, but it didn't hurt my feelings in the least, to remain unmolested, with my arsehole unstretched, and it pissed me off that this stinking fucker was entertaining the notion of taking me out of the ranks of the uninitiated.

"I'm quite fond of me 'and, if yeh want to know the truf," I said quietly, amazed that I'd been able to keep my cool, especially since his cock was getting hard against my bum, and he kept rubbing the damned thing against me. "We've got a committed relationship wif one another, and I wouldn't want to give it somefing to be jealous about…of course, I don't fink yeh'd be able to fuck my arse anyway, not after I rip off your nob and feed it to yeh, would yeh?"

The bastard laughed, and pushed his pan handle more insistently against me. "I fink y'r missing the point, bald boy. I want t' blow my load, an' y'r going t' 'elp me wif that, because if yeh try t' fight me, I'll kill yeh, an' when I get out of 'ere, I'll pay a visit t' that slag that yeh've been balling on the sly an' poke her pussy 'til she bleeds. 'ow does that sound t' you, eh, _Charlie_?"

I knew that he was playing his part in a setup, it was obvious by the way that Richter and Lewis were watching us, and smiling, that they'd put him up to the task of setting me off. Of course, that didn't mean that the foul-smelling git wouldn't rape me anyway, first chance that he got, even if I resisted his attempt to raise my hackles. Knowing Richter and Lewis the way that I did, they would probably let in into my cell whenever he got the urge to "blow his load", but that wasn't the thing that enraged me the most. He'd made the mistake of threatening Lucy, he wanted to hurt her, he wanted to make her bleed, and there was no way that I was going to let that happen.

I turned very fast, so quickly that he didn't have time to protect himself, and grabbed his balls with one hand, a move that made him squeal like a pig, while I encircled as much of his neck as I could with my other palm. I took turns squeezing each hand, first his plums, then his throat, and laughed when I saw his face turning red, then purple, as tears of pain coursed out of his eyes, to wet his cheeks. I could hear the shouts behind me, and I knew that a fight was headed my way on pounding feet, and I dropped my would-be rapist and whirled around to meet them head-on.

I'd tried to be good, I'd tried to change, I really had, and I hoped that Lucy would know that, that she'd accept it as the truth…not that it would make a damned bit of difference in the way that she'd feel about me, not after she was reminded, in the most blatant way possible, that I was a violent offender, would it?

* * *

Lucy, my love,

I laid down on my bunk last night with those knickers that you brought me in one hand and my cock in the other one. I don't know if you've ever taken the time to appreciate how your pussy smells, but I'm kind of fond of the scent myself. I started thinking about that while I was laying there, playing with myself, about how I could bottle it up, and sell it as a cologne, and men would go daffy over it, wouldn't they? What man wouldn't want to go about and be able to take a sniff of first-class girly bits all day? Of course, it might be a bit of a problem for them, to go around with a pitched tent in their trousers all day long, but it's something that _I_ wouldn't mind, not if I could breathe in your sweetness whenever I felt like it.

I'm a bit of a perv, aren't I, love? It's what you do to me, it's what you make me feel, and I don't know how much longer I'll be willing to wait to be with you again. I'm kind of like a drunkard, and the powers that be chose to take pity on me and they gave me a taste of booze that was unlike any that I'd had before. They thought that I'd be happy with the one sip, but then I had to have another, and now I'm thirsting to taste you again…and again…and again…..

Lucy's POV

"He had to have been provoked," I argued, moving forward in my chair. "He was doing so well, and I know that he wouldn't have done something like this unless someone did something to enrage him. Have you looked into what this other inmate might have said, or done, to make him react so violently?"

I knew that there was a chance that Governor Walsh would be offended by my words, that he might have taken them to mean that he hadn't done any due diligence where this situation with Charlie was concerned, but I had to take that chance. I knew that Walsh wasn't hiding anything, if that had been the case, then he never would have called me to tell me what had happened, but maybe he didn't know everything that he needed to, maybe something was being kept from him.

"I questioned the inmate immediately, Miss Brannon, and he assured me that he'd neither said or done anything that could have incited Mr. Peterson to react the way that he did," Governor Walsh assured me, rising out of his chair, to move around his desk and perch on the corner. "He simply asked for a cigarette, and Michael attacked him immediately afterward….."

"You'll excuse me, Mr. Walsh, but his _story_ sounds like a load of rubbish to me," I interrupted, knowing, once more, that my behavior was rude and disrespectful in nature, but that couldn't be helped. "I know that Charlie has a temper, I know that he can be violent, but he's not the sort who would snap so easily, over something as trivial as a request for a cigarette. There had to have been more to it, the man that he fought with has to be hiding something. Maybe you ought to question those who witnessed what happened….."

He looked at me with eyes that were sympathetic, pitying almost, and shook his head. "Two of my men corroborated the story of the man who was attacked, Miss Brannon. They said that Mr. Peterson had been hostile and uncooperative all day, and when the other inmate spoke to him he snapped and commenced beating and choking the man immediately. They rushed to intervene, to break up the skirmish and Michael turned his anger toward them, resulting in wounds that required medical treatment and subsequent time off."

I knew about Charlie's past, I'd read all about it in the papers, but I just couldn't imagine the man that they described, because he bore no resemblance at all to the Charlie Bronson that I knew and loved. For a fraction of a second I entertained the notion that I didn't really know him at all, but I quickly pushed the doubt out of my mind before it could take hold of me. I _did_ know who he was, I knew that he had a history of violence, I knew that he had an issue with anger, but I also knew that he was trying to change, and he wouldn't have attacked anyone over something as flimsy as a request for a cigarette.

"What does this mean for him, Mr. Walsh?" I asked quietly, dreading what his answer to my question would be, but I knew that I had to hear it just the same. "What does this mean for _us_?"

He sighed, the sort of exhalation that meant that he was going to tell me something that would upset me, and I felt my muscles tightening as I waited for him to continue. "I'm going to have to suspend his mail privileges, and I won't be able to allow you to, er, _visit_, Mr. Peterson any longer. He has to know that the repercussions for his behavior are severe, to say the very least, and he will be detained to his room for a month, once he's dismissed from the infirmary, and if he can behave himself for a year, then I'll reconsider his ability to receive your correspondence, and then, an additional six months, and I will determine whether you can….."

"What do you mean, 'after he's dismissed from the_ infirmary'_?" I interrupted, shaken and angered by the notion that I wouldn't be able to see him for close to two years, at the very least. "Why didn't you tell me that he had been hurt? How bad are his injuries?"

"Calm down, Miss Brannon," he said softly, reaching into his suit coat, to retrieve his handkerchief, handing it to me, to dry the tears that I hadn't felt until that moment. "The doctor assures me that he will heal quickly, and he is being kept comfortable, so there is no reason for you to worry about him."

I shook my head and tried to laugh, but the chuckle left me in a sob. I dried my face with his handkerchief and started to hand it back to him, but thought better of doing so, given that I'd just soaked it with my tears. "Could I see him, so that I know that he's alright?" I asked quietly, dreading, once more, the answer that I would receive to my question. "I know that I'm not supposed to see him, I know that he's being punished, but it would help _me_, to see him with my own eyes. It's not that I don't trust you, Mr. Walsh, because I do, and I know that you have his best interests in mind, which means that you would never let anything bad happen to him, but….."

He cleared his throat, interrupting me mid-spiel, and I waited for the words that would crush me. He was a good man, he was a rarity, I would imagine, in his field, but he wasn't going to break the rules for me, even if my peace of mind was on the line. I was just going to have to accept the fact that I wouldn't be able to see Charlie for a couple of years, at the very least. There would be no word from him for a year either, but maybe Mr. Walsh would keep me up-to-date. I could hope for that much, couldn't I?

"Inmates who've behaved violently have their privileges taken from them immediately," he murmured, in a tone that he probably meant to be soothing in nature, and it probably would have worked to calm me down, if I hadn't been so busy struggling to keep myself from completely _breaking_ down. "That means that Mr. Peterson will be sequestered from his fellow inmates and cut off from any and all contact with the outside world, which I've already explained to you, until he's proven that he's worthy of rewards by behaving properly and respectfully toward himself and others."

He rose from the corner of his desk and moved toward the door. I assumed that he meant to open it for me, to wait, with his hand on the knob, for me to leave and bestow a kind smile and a gentle word upon me as I tried to pass him with as much dignity as I could muster. I rose shakily to my feet and gathered my purse close to my chest, determined that I would leave without making a spectacle of myself, but all of my intentions proved to be for naught, and I froze in my tracks instead, and stared at the floor, as tears burst free of my eyes once more.

"Excuse me, Miss Brannon, but Mr. Peterson ought to be ready for his dinner by now, and I thought that you might help him a bit. You wouldn't want to keep him waiting, would you?"


	6. Chapter Six

~Chapter Six~

Lucy's POV

It would have been nice if I'd been able to bring Charlie something to eat from home, something that resembled the food that humans partook of, as opposed to a plate full of slop that would make a dog turn up his nose in disgust. Of course, I realized that I was fortunate to have been given the opportunity to see him at all, and as such, I was unlikely to complain to the Governor anytime soon, even though I wanted to.

My outrage wasn't limited to the mystery meat that they swore was grillsteak, accompanied by runny mashed potatoes and green peas, all of which was slathered with a pale and greasy form of brown gravy. That was a secondary gripe for me. My first complaint was the fact that there were bruises all over Charlie's face, and I had a pretty good idea that they hadn't been the result of his altercation with the prisoner who'd caused him so much trouble either, given that the "official" story didn't mention the other guy landing a single punch.

The guard on duty was the younger man who'd led me out of Charlie's cell after our first time together had ended, and he didn't bat an eye when he saw me move around to Charlie's side of the table, so that I could sit beside him. He watched us until I cuddled as close as I could to my lover, and then he turned his back and gave us some privacy, which had to have been forbidden. I was thankful to him for his breach in protocol, and hoped that he wouldn't get into trouble for breaking the rules.

There had been an expression on Charlie's face when I first saw him that had broken my heart in two, one that he was still wearing, and I was determined to make it go away. I slid my hand over his stomach, and then down to his hands, which were tightly clenched together on his lap. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and the muscles that had been so rigid loosened in an instant, and he turned his hand over and grabbed hold of me tight, then used his grasp to pull me onto his lap.

"I was defending us, love," he whispered, slipping his fingers into my hair and twining them round and round, almost as if the movement comforted him. "Tha' smarmy bastard meant to 'ave 'is way wif me, and 'e threatened you as well, and there was no way I was going t' stand idly by and let 'im bugger me, or talk about 'urting yeh, not so long as I 'ad the ability t' fight back….."

"Hush, Charlie, I know that you did what you had to do," I told him, glancing over my shoulder, to ensure that the guard was still giving us our privacy, and, once I saw that it was safe to do so, I kissed him, pouring every last bit of my feelings for him into the passionate, and almost desperate, embrace.

He shivered, and made a noise that sounded almost like a whimper as he moved his palms from my hair to my back, twisting my sweater in his hands, until I heard the fabric give a little in response. He used his tongue to open my mouth, and swept it around, teasing and tasting me until I was breathless in his arms, and aching between my legs, and painfully aware of the quickening that was taking place within me, the one that was always there, dormant in my body, just waiting for the tiny spark that would bring it roaring back to life.

"Oi, Peterson, yeh need to calm down a bit," the guard, Harrison, I believe was his name, called back over his shoulder. "I can 'ear that y'r about ready to bite y'r arm off back there, and the only way that this works for bof of us is if y'r willie stays in y'r trousers, right?"

Charlie reluctantly moved away from me, drawing my bottom lip into his mouth and suckling it, before he released me altogether. "'e's a cheeky little bastard, isn't 'e?" he whispered, moving his head, so that he could wink at Harrison over my shoulder. "Doesn't 'e realize that I don't take my pecker out of my pants until I've got yeh out of y'r knickers?"

I choked back a giggle, and, feeling a little wicked, rocked forward, to caress him through his trousers, whimpering softly when I stroked myself just right. "Behave," I whispered, knowing that my words had to have been the epitome of ironic, given what I was doing at that moment. "He's doing us a favor, him and Governor Walsh, and you have to mind your manners, my love."

He drew back his head and cocked an eyebrow at me, and then he smiled. "Did yeh really just tell me to behave myself, little Lucy, when y'r the one who's using my cock to play with y'rself?"

His descriptive was an accurate one, and, as such, it probably shouldn't have embarrassed me as badly as it did, but I felt my face flaming in response to his words none the less. I wouldn't think that Harrison had a very high opinion of me, given that I was essentially the plaything for a notoriously violent criminal, but there was no need for me to flaunt my behavior in his face, and that was why I removed myself from Charlie's lap, even though every fiber of my being cried out for me to stay right where I was and see what happened next.

"Now, why would yeh want to leave me, love?" he asked, reaching for me and running his hand, very boldly, and wickedly, between my legs, to cup me through my jeans. "It's not nice to work me up and leave me wanting, now is it, my sweet? Don't yeh remember what I make yeh feel, the fings that we feel _together_? Wouldn't yeh like for us to 'ave a little of that right now?"

I bit back a whimper, and pushed back the surge of arousal that was so determined to completely take over my train of thought and course of action. He had a way about him, an almost magical ability to make me forget how I ought to act, what was proper and what was not, he not only made it where I didn't remember, he encouraged me not to care, and that was a dangerous state of being for me to find myself in.

"I don't want to leave you, Charlie, truth be told, I'd love to take you home with me, so neither one of us would ever have to see this place again, but I'm pretty sure that I've already taken advantage of Mr. Walsh's kindness in more ways than one, and that means that I can't allow myself to do what I want to do. I'm afraid that we're both going to be expected to do what we _have_ to do, whether we want to or not, and that means that I have to leave you now….."

"Please don't go," he whispered, turning in his chair to grab hold of me, all of his former seductive bravado and teasing gone in a heartbeat, allowing the fear that was roiling beneath the surface to show itself in its enormity. "Please don't leave me, little Lucy."

I went back into his arms without a moment of hesitation, knowing that he needed me to hold him until he felt better, stronger, than he did at that moment. I'd never done anything criminal in my entire life, I'd never even considered doing so, but sitting there with Charlie, cuddling him close while he took deep breaths that weren't doing much to calm him, I seriously entertained the notion of doing my damnedest to break him out of the chains that he'd been wearing for far too many years, so that he could be happy and safe…so that we could have a normal life with one another, if such a thing was truly possible.

"She 'as to go now, Michael," Harrison said firmly, but not unkindly as he came into the room. "Walsh is going to 'ave kittens if 'e finds out that yeh've been in 'ere consorting wif y'r lady, and the best way to ensure that he don't find out is to get 'er out _now_, as opposed to waiting until yeh've talked 'er out of 'er knickers, isn't that right, Miss?"

I suppose that I ought to have been outraged that he would insinuate that I was so easy, so desperate for Charlie, that he could finesse me out of my panties, even though we essentially had an audience, but then I remembered everything that I had done, knowing full well that Harrison was only steps away from us. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I would have loved to have found a place to hide until the guard left the room…and then it dawned on me that _I_ was the one who had to leave, not him, and that meant that I was going to have to bite back my discomfiture and walk past him with my head held high, even if said head felt like it weighed a ton, at the very least.

"I have to go now, baby," I told Charlie, laying my hands; very gently, on his, which were fists holding tight to my sweater. "But you know that I'll be back, don't you, Charlie? You know that I would never leave you here all alone, you know that I love you too much to stay away for very long, isn't that right?"

"I know," he said roughly, and slowly released his hold on me. "The same is true for me, yeh know, arse over tits, lovie, so much that it feels like y'r ripping my 'eart out o' my chest, but I wouldn't 'ave it any ofer way, Lucy."

The look on Harrison's face at that moment was downright priceless in nature, so much so that I might have laughed at him, had the situation not been so damned depressing. I took Charlie's face in my palms and kissed him, softly, lingering on those lips that I loved so much for as long as I could, until I heard the guard clear his throat behind me, and then I rose shakily to my feet, and tried to smile, though the lump that was in my throat made it damn near impossible to do so.

"I'm going to clear this whole thing up, Charlie," I promised him in the steadiest voice that I could muster, which was still very shaky, in spite of my best efforts to even it out. "I'm going to prove that you weren't the one who was in the wrong, no matter how long it takes…I'm going to make things right, my love."

I held myself together as I made my way out of the room, and halfway down the hallway, but then I had to stop, and lean against the wall. I might have broken down and let the tears flow, I felt like there was no way that I could avoid doing so, but then Harrison moved to stand beside me, and held out his handkerchief to me, smiling almost, well, _kindly_ as he did.

"I might lose my job over this, but I fink that I can help yeh, Miss Brannon," he whispered, taking his handkerchief, which bore the barest hint of my tears, and placing it inside his uniform jacket. "I'm tired of all of the bullshit, and I know that there's a way to prove what was done to 'im and I'm going to prove it…just so long as y'r willing to 'elp me, that is."

Harrison's POV

There were prison guards who came to work each and every day with the intent and purpose of doing the best job that they could to ensure that each and every inmate was monitored as carefully and respectfully as possible, without taking advantage of them, or using them to perpetrate whatever evil schemes that said screw might have dreamed up. These guards tried to give everyone a fair shake, and they walked a straight and narrow path, because principle dictated that they do so…and then there were guards like Richter and Lewis, who did anything and everything in their power to make life a living hell for those who'd had the misfortune of ending up on their bad side.

Michael Peterson, aka Charlie Bronson, was at the top of their list of offenders, both of them had a hard-on of colossal proportions for the guy who'd bloodied their collective noses countless times and bruised Richter's balls and Lewis' kidney…not to mention their pride, on more than one occasion. I'd imagined that it would only be a matter of time before they got a little payback, but I never would have thought that they'd go about it in such a despicable fashion.

Rape was a given thing inside, it was one of those realities that you hated, but which was unavoidable, and the thought that my fellow guards would use that sort of violence to even the score with Peterson boggled my mind and made me want to revisit my lunch. I'd heard the story with my own two ears, courtesy of Richter and Lewis themselves, only they hadn't been bragging to me. They had been enthralling the newest screw with the tale, and Fenton, a spotty, pigeon-chested tosser who viewed the veteran screws as gods, had eaten up Richter and Lewis's bullshit like it was a tasty dish of treacle tart, and had even gone so far as to ask how he might help them in their quest to ruin Peterson completely.

I know that Michael had been doing his best to kill the son of a whore who'd threatened to rape him, but what else was he supposed to do, once he saw that there was no help coming his way? From what I had heard, I gathered that the fat bastard had promised to do unspeakable things to Miss Brannon as well, and I reckoned that was the straw that broke the camel's back, and had I been on duty, and had heard about the threats that had been made, I probably would have let Michael take his time with the porky piece of shit, just so long as he didn't kill him, that is.

The Governor was a good bloke, he was fair and he was honest, but I think that he was a little naïve as well, because he seemed to think that everyone else followed the same guidelines that he did, and that just wasn't a realistic way to go through life, especially not in a place like this. I would have liked to have believed that my coworkers weren't a pack of lying, ruthlessly evil wankers as well, but that wasn't a sensible point of view to take, was it? That sort of trusting behavior put you at risk for one of the foul gits cutting your throat when you weren't looking, because they reckoned that you were a patsy, and then blaming it on one of the inmates, and I considered myself a reasonably intelligent man…which is why I decided that they had to be stopped.

There were too many unsavory screws to ensure that they all paid the piper for their sins, but Richter and Lewis were the worst, by far, and that little shit, Fenton, showed promise as their protégé, so I decided to concentrate my attentions on them. I did so for myself, and my determination to show that there were some guards who had a little integrity, and also for Michael and his lady, because he hadn't deserved the beating that he'd received, and she had a way about her that made you want to help her, whether her plight had anything to do with you or not.

It was a lucky coincidence for me that I found Fenton in the break room, entertaining himself with a wank mag that specialized in shots of women being tied up and beaten with anything and everything that the sickest mind could imagine. The little bastard jumped when I walked in the room and did his best to hide his porn, and his bobbing cock, and I pretended that I hadn't seen a thing. He ought to have realized that I'd gotten an eyeful, anyone who was even remotely perceptive would have taken in the scene, but he was a little dimwitted, and bought my ruse that I'd been completely blind when I walked in, and his humiliated blush slowly left him and was replaced by a smug smile, which told me that I had him right where I wanted him.

Anybody else would have wondered why I'd brought a satchel with me to work, which was something that I'd never done before, but Fenton didn't give it a second glance as I sat it down on the table. He was too eager to gossip with me, and that was good, because I wanted to hear about each and everything that he knew…and so did the tape recorder that I'd hidden from his view.


End file.
